


These bonds we share

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow Oneshots [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dishonored AU, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, M/M, Snarky Corvo, Tattoos, transgender character, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: The Arcane Bond connects them, and tells of their loyalty to Daud. Corvo’s marks are darker than the rest.





	1. Rulfio

Corvo woke to strange markings on his body. He wasn’t injured. It wasn’t another of Arden’s pranks, the Whaler wasn’t that artistic.

Corvo peered at the reflection of himself in the window pane, and ran two fingers over the foreign shapes snaking up and around his shoulder, down his arm, across one side of his back. The ink was slightly raised from his skin. It looked like ink, at least. Like tattoos.

Tattoos that had apparently come from nowhere during the night. Rulfio would know. Rulfio knew everything, Corvo suspected, not that he’d admit it to the older man. Rulfio had a big enough ego on him, he didn’t need it made any bigger.

Corvo shrugged on a shirt, tugged on a pair of boots, and went to the training room.

He hovered at the entrance. Rulfio flinched when he turned and saw him there.

“Outsider’s balls,” the older Whaler huffed a laugh. “Don’t do that, you’re too bloody quiet.” Still, he motioned for Corvo to come inside. “It’s barely gone sunrise. You’re up early,” he remarked, tying his dark hair back, ready to begin the day. “Then again, you normally are. You’re a defective youngster, you know. Aren’t you lot supposed to sleep until noon?”

“Arden snores.”

“Like a ship’s fog horn,” Rulfio agreed. “Now you mention it, I’d probably lose coin betting someone could sleep through that.” Then the older Whaler frowned, noting Corvo’s slightly perplexed expression. “Everything alright? You’re less sullen than usual this morning.”

Corvo glared.

“Ah, there we are! Back to normal.” Rulfio grinned at his own teasing, and ruffled Corvo’s hair when he shoved past. Corvo hopped up onto the windowsill. “Seriously, now. What’s the matter?”

Corvo hesitated, and then pulled the left shoulder of his shirt down, revealing the dark, twisting patterns beneath. He studied Rulfio’s reaction, trying to make out whether this was something grave or not.

The older Whaler stepped closer, squinted at the tattoos. Then he spoke. “Void, they’ve appeared so soon?” Rulfio rolled the left sleeve of his shirt up, revealing matching marks on his own skin. “It took mine over a year to form.”

Corvo stared, in awe of the strange tattoos crawling across Rulfio’s forearm. They weren’t identical to his own, but similar; the same sharp, snaking design that made Corvo think of intricate vines, or of the way cigarette smoke drifted towards the sky.

“What are they?”

“It’s the Arcane Bond,” Rulfio said. “Did I not mention this already?”

“The basics. How it lets us do what Daud does. You never said there’d be marks.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind. Sorry,” the Whaler added, offering him a sheepish look. “I imagine it gave you a fright when you saw them.”

“No. Knew there’d be an explanation.”

“Cocky little shit.” Rulfio brought his sleeve back down, smiling. “Everyone’s Bond is different. Between you and me,” he began, lowering his voice. Corvo leaned closer to hear. “I’ve a theory, that the men who are most frightened of Daud have the least amount of markings. Killian’s are barely visible, poor man. Daud’s mood is easier to deal with for some than it is for others.”

Corvo smiled.

“Don’t repeat that,” Rulfio warned, nudging Corvo’s leg with the tip of his boot. “We’ll have both our heads thrust in the boiler if Daud’s catches any word of gossip.”

Corvo nodded in accord.

“That’s a good lad. Our fair leader has his merits, but his patience for chitchat is, for lack of a better word, shit.”

Corvo blinked. He marvelled at how much nerve Rulfio had, to be able to speak about Daud like that. Daud was their leader, their superior, and just picturing of the man’s hard and perilous gaze, Corvo doubted he’d ever muster the gall to tease him in such a way.

“Let's take another look.” Rulfio studied Corvo’s markings. “Yours are quite a bit darker than mine, I have to say.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not _bad._ I doubt it’s anything out of the ordinary.” Rulfio mused for a while, eyes scanning over Corvo’s exposed shoulder. “Do they stop there?”

“No. Arm and across my back.” Corvo showed the inside of his wrist to prove it. The black patterns stopped before reaching his palm; the lines snaked in tandem with his veins, both above and beneath his skin.

“Hmm. Looks quite similar to Billie’s. I’d wager yours are still darker.” Rulfio studied him a moment longer. “You’re a little paler than her, though. Difficult to tell properly.” He chuckled at Corvo’s expression, giving him another light nudge with his foot. “I’m not trying to worry you, stop looking like a kicked pup. Like I said, everyone’s are different.”

Corvo tugged the shoulder of his shirt up, to re-cover his apparently _darker than normal_ markings. His glare deepened, much to Rulfio’s amusement, and he stood to leave now that he’d gotten the information he’d come for.

“Not at least going to stay and help me set up?” Rulfio called after him innocently. “Unappreciative little fuck.”

“Annoying old man.”

Corvo’s retort earned him a bark of laughter, and he smiled slightly at the familiar sound of it.

He struggled to remember when, months ago, he had been so wary of the older Whaler. Wary of most Whalers, in truth. But Corvo had been there for nine months now, and he was settling further each day. He’d found his voice once more, growing confident enough to make a few friends, which is more than he’d done back in Serkonos.

Leaving his small house near the coast, his father and sister’s deaths; it was all still fresh in his mind. Corvo couldn’t imagine the pain lessening any time soon. But Rudshore was beginning to feel like some resonance of home, and Rulfio like–

Corvo’s throat felt unexpectedly tight. _Like family._

He stopped halfway through the corridor and tugged up his sleeve, examining the Arcane Bond. Is that what it meant? It was his connection to Daud’s power, yes, but did it also connect him to the others? With Rulfio, and Arden and Jordan and Leonid. All the Whalers who had their own reasons for being here, just like he did. Did these markings make him one of them? Did it mean he belonged there?

 _Maybe_ , he reasoned. But as he considered it, he realised he had felt like one of them for a while now. Like he was welcome, and accepted, and _home._ It was thanks to Rulfio, most of all.

The older Whaler raised a questioning eyebrow when Corvo appeared back in the doorway.

“What did you need help with?”

Rulfio looked a touch taken aback by his offer. But he smiled, and gestured him back inside, and had Corvo organise some practice equipment, teaching him how and where to have each blade or wristbow set out.

“Thanks,” Corvo muttered, eventually and quietly as they worked.

“For what, you pain?”

Corvo felt his face heat up, but he was determined to have it said. “Everything. I don’t know. Not giving up on me. Even when I wouldn’t talk, you still... tried.”

Rulfio paused his rummaging through the blunted swords, to meet his eyes. “I’m glad I did.” His expression was soft, in such a way that made Corvo proud of himself for saying his thanks aloud. Rulfio shook his head after a moment, smiling glibly, “Sometimes wish I hadn’t, though. If I’d have realised what a smart mouth you have on you, I’d have let you keep it shut.”

Corvo threw the nearest object towards his chest, which was regrettably a can of chokedust. They coughed out insults amidst the smoke cloud until it had dissipated and they could breathe properly once again. And during those few blurry and uncomfortable minutes, Corvo couldn’t have imagined himself anywhere else in the Isles.


	2. Quinn

It was strange, for Quinn not to meet him in their usual spot. More often than not, Quinn was waiting for _him_ to arrive. The Whaler would slouch back against the crumbling bridge, and shoot Corvo a roguish grin when he appeared. Rib into him for being late, and then hand him a cigarette. He'd pull Corvo down beside him, and they'd talk, away from everyone else for a while. Or just sit in silence. It didn’t matter.

It was what Corvo liked about Quinn. Whether they talked or not, it was always comfortable. He had never felt more at ease with someone his own age until Quinn had come here.

He counted sixty more seconds, then decided to go and search.

He went to Rulfio first.

"You don't know where Quinn is?" The older Whaler placed a hand over his heart, and his comically feigned shock made Corvo glower. "You two have been joined at the hip since that little shit arrived, now you're asking me where he is? Void above, who’d have expected that."

"You're a fuck. Where is he?"

"Well, he hasn't come through here, so I– Misha, that sword is not a toy, stop flailing it around. You already look like a hagfish, Outsider only knows how you'd look missing an eye." Rulfio folded his arms, his gaze staying trained on Misha just in case. "Haven't seen him, Corvo. Try the kitchen. That boy could do with fattening up a bit."

Corvo took his advice. He bristled at the racket in the dining hall, but he should have expected it by now; the kitchen was always overcrowded in the afternoon.

He went straight to Hobson. The Whaler was arguing with Rinaldo again, when Corvo cut between them.

"Have you seen Quinn?"

"Hmm? Remind me, which one's Quinn?" Hobson stroked his beard thoughtfully. "All you pups look the same to me."

"All just as irritating," Rinaldo added.

"Just as ugly, too."

"I'll put rat poison in your coffee." Corvo looked coolly between them. "You both know I could."

"I take it back," Rinaldo said, leaning against the counter. _"You're_ the most irritating."

"Ah, too far, Rin. Enough teasing." Hobson chuckled at Corvo's icy expression. "You’re wrong anyway, Quinn's far more irritating than him. But that kid hasn't set foot in here yet."

Corvo felt himself frown. Quinn always came here, before noon at least. He liked eating in the kitchen with everyone, even when it was this crowded, which Corvo would never understand. "At all?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Me neither," Rinaldo said.

Corvo was starting to worry. If Rulfio and Hobson hadn't caught sight of Quinn at all, something clearly wasn't right.

He went to the floor above. Maybe Quinn was sick, and he'd stayed in bed, and Corvo just hadn't realised.

Their dorm was empty apart from the Whaler. Quinn was sat on his bed, knees pulled in tight and head buried in his arms. His shoulders, newly covered by twisting black tattoos, were shaking. The bandages he usually used to bind his chest were strewn across the bed. It was strange, Corvo noted, to see him without them.

"Quinn."

The Whaler sniffed at the sound of his name. Buried further into the shelter of his arms. He didn't answer, and Corvo had no idea what to do next. Quinn was normally so cheerful.

Corvo paced closer, tentatively, and perched on the mattress beside him. "You got your markings," he said after a while, feeling completely out of his depth.

Quinn sniffed again. "Yeah. Didn't think I would. Because I’m–" He choked out a laugh, "It's stupid."

"What is?"

"Crying over _this."_ Quinn held up one of the bandages to emphasise, before letting it fall back onto the covers. "Should've told you. I was too scared."

Corvo cocked his head, before comprehending what his friend meant. "I already knew. That you... you know," he gestured lamely to the bandages. “I knew.”

Quinn coughed another laugh, and looked at Corvo sidelong. His eyes were wet and swollen from his tears, but he looked hopeful. "Thought you might've figured it out. I... I didn't want to say, just in case you hadn't. You were so nice to me when first I got here, and–" His jaw trembled, and he hid his face again. "I didn't wanna say, in case you didn't know. I didn't want anything to change."

"Quinn."

Quinn peeked out at him, one brown eye peering up from beneath his arm.

"I don't care. This," Corvo motioned to the bandages again, "I don't care about this. I already knew, and Rulf knows. And Daud, and Leonid, and Jordan. Nothing changes."

The Whaler studied him for a moment, and then he leant sideways on Corvo's shoulder. Placed his hand in Corvo's atop the mattress. Corvo gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks."

Corvo's chest felt tight, his throat dry. Quinn, of all the people in the Isles, didn't deserve to feel so unsure of himself. "You got the Bond," he repeated, hoping to relieve his friend of the subject. "You didn't think you would?"

Quinn shook his head, jostling Corvo's shoulder slightly. "No. Jordan said it shows that we all belong here."

"You do belong here."

"I hope so. More than anything." The Whaler gripped Corvo's hand a little harder. "Never belonged anywhere. The people I was with before, they didn't... understand. They didn't get why I did this." He picked up one of his binds, staring down at it. "They didn't like that I was so different."

"You're not different. You're..." Corvo tried to find the right words. "You're you. You're the asshole who keeps me up all night, singing those rude Tyvian songs."

Quinn chuckled at that. A proper laugh, and at the sound of it, Corvo pulled him closer with one arm around his shoulders.

"But you love my singing," the Whaler insisted. "I'm such a good singer."

"You're a terrible singer."

"Nu-uh."

"You're worse than Arden."

"Arden's tone deaf."

"And somehow you're still worse."

"I'm not!" Quinn whacked him on the thigh and grinned up at him. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes, and then examined the fresh patterns snaking up his arm. "They're different to yours."

"Everyone's are different."

"Yeah, but they're _way_ different. Yours are so much darker."

Corvo bit on the inside of his lip. He’d noticed as much, over the last year as the other novices' Bonds began to form. His were always the darkest; the vine-like shapes pronounced and pitch black against his skin. His were darker than Billie's, he knew, no matter that he was paler than her. If he had to guess, his were darker than everybody's in Rudshore, even those who'd had them longest.

"Does Daud have tattoos, too? Have you seen?"

Quinn's question caught him off guard him. Corvo had seen, once. At least, he'd caught a glimpse.

Daud, Billie and Thomas had returned from a gruelling job in the Estate District, covered in blood and with a dozen tears in their uniforms from Watch guard swords. Corvo had been outside the office doors when Daud had hauled his ripped shirt over his head, exposing his tattoos. From what Corvo could tell, the patterns spread from the Outsider's mark; snaking from Daud's left hand to his shoulder, and covering his back entirely.

"Not sure," Corvo lied. Thinking of the play of muscles in Daud's shoulders, the hard skin covered by markings, would just end in his own torment. Corvo had learned months ago to keep such thoughts under wraps. "Ask him."

Quinn scoffed. "Not a chance. Daud's terrifying."

"Coward."

 _"You_ ask him, then, if you're gonna be high and mighty about it."

"Don't feel like it."

"Then you're a coward, too."

They continued to bicker while Quinn wiped his eyes properly and dressed, and then they walked together join the rabble in the kitchen. Corvo watched, proud, while Quinn showed off his new markings to Hobson and the others. The Whaler even approached Daud's table. To prove his cowardice false, Corvo suspected.

"Well, well," Billie said, folding her arms with amusement as she scrutinized Quinn's tattooed arm. "Looks like you're officially one of us. Good luck." She leaned forward, whispering from behind one hand, "There's no escape now."

Thomas shoved her. "Don't listen to her, Quinn."

"I'm just saying," Billie defended, "he's going to have to put up with you eventually, Thomas. I'm sympathising."

"You're over exaggerating. I'm not that bad."

"Wait until you get to advanced training, Quinn." Billie fixed the novice Whaler with a solemn look. "See if you still think he's _not that bad_ then. Fair warning, you won't think that. At all. He might look harmless, but get him in that training room..." She left the rest hanging eerily.

Quinn visibly twitched.

"Stop scaring him."

Billie smirked at Daud's order, and took an innocent sip of her drink.

Quinn scurried back to their table, and immediately fired off question after question to Hobson about what Thomas' advanced training had in store. Corvo stopped listening when he caught Daud's eye across the kitchen. The man's gaze was fixed on his shoulder.

Corvo knew what he saw there; the Arcane Bond's markings, shades darker than everyone else's. Had Daud ever seen them on him before, he wondered. Corvo subtly moved the collar of his shirt to cover the tattoos, feeling all of a sudden self-conscious of them.

Seconds later, when he risked another glance, Daud's gaze had withdrawn from him, as though it had never been there at all.


	3. Daud

He felt Daud's lips pause amidst his exploration of the tattoos. Pause at the back of his neck. His breath was warm, and it made Corvo shiver.

"This," the older man began, his fingers tracing the crows on Corvo's skin. "This isn't one of mine."

"No." Corvo smiled, pleased that the tattoo had finally been noticed for what it was. It had taken Daud long enough to discern it.

"And where, pray tell, did you get this? When?"

Corvo twisted slightly to look at him. "Arden took me. For my twenty first year."

Daud's eyes narrowed, just a touch. "Why am I only now hearing of this?"

Corvo's smile widened, and he didn't answer. He stretched against the mattress instead, laid out on his stomach and tangled in Daud's own sheets. Daud grunted irritably from above him, but Corvo could see the heat in his ordinarily cold eyes. He reclined a little further, until the markings Daud had so been enjoying were on show once again. But, now that he'd discovered it, Daud seemed centred on the one tattoo his Arcane Bond wasn't responsible for.

Corvo felt his rough fingers outlining the crows' wings, following the trio's black designs from Corvo's neck to the indent between his shoulder blades. "I like it," the older man confessed, and Corvo had to hold back a grin.

"I'd hoped you would."

"You and Arden are a disobedient pair. But what the men do in their free time is beyond my say." Corvo felt Daud's mouth return to his skin, teeth scraping against the third crow's feathers. "It suits you.

Corvo hummed, closing his eyes against the sheets. "After I got it, I'd worried I made a mistake."

“Mm?”

"The place Arden and I had them done wasn't legal."

"Nothing we do is legal, Corvo."

"And I was drunk when I chose mine."

"Ah." Daud pulled back with a low chuckle, and examined the crows again. "I can picture it now. You, stumbling around in that way you do when you've had too much– I take it you had whisky that night?"

"What else?" Corvo mumbled.

"Well. At any rate, in your drunkenness, you at least remembered your namesake. You could have walked away with a blood ox in its place," Daud mused. "How trite that would have been."

Corvo gave him a look over his shoulder.

"Arden," Daud muttered, exasperated, "asked for a blood ox. Didn't he."

"On his arm. He said it'd look tough."

"I despise the fact these revelations no longer surprise me." Daud rested his temples against Corvo's spine. "Why are my people such imbeciles."

"There's a belief, that people follow by the example of their leader."

Corvo felt Daud peer up at him. "Are you calling me an imbecile, Corvo?"

"Not directly."

His teasing landed him on his back, pinned under Daud's hard weight. Still, he found the nerve to meet the man's eyes in a blameless expression. Joking with Daud still felt like a novelty at times, but Corvo was getting used to it. He enjoyed it, certainly, especially when Daud looked at him like that; heat and want masked with a thin layer of irritation. Corvo always savoured that sight.

"Insubordinate," Daud muttered, pushing the hair back from Corvo's eyes. "Infuriating. I shouldn't stand for it."

"But you do."

"I do," Daud admitted, his voice low, and rough, and Corvo felt it rumble against him. He pressed his hips up slightly, feeling the man's thickness against him. "Void, I'd stand for anything you did. It's going to get one of us killed, if not both."

"Don't be dramatic." Corvo, with his fingers, followed the trail of markings down Daud's arm. The dim light that reached them from the window made the patterns look darker. "Yours are as dark as mine," he realised.

Daud frowned in question.

"Does that mean something? If they're darker. Mine always have been."

"That you're more of a nuisance, perhaps." At Corvo's glare, Daud pressed his lips to the arch of his brows. "I don't know what it means," he relented. "It may not mean anything."

"Rulfio has a theory."

"He always does."

"He said lighter marks mean they’re afraid of you."

"That man," Daud muttered. "His inane theories will get him nowhere. I doubt that's true." His jaw was cocked slightly, as he examined the patterns on Corvo's shoulder. "Although, you've never been afraid of me, as insolent as you are. He may be right."

"He's not. Thomas is afraid of you, and his marks are almost as dark as mine."

"Thomas isn't afraid of me." Daud paused at Corvo's steady expression. "He's not."

"Not always," Corvo agreed. "Just when you haven't had a cigarette for a while. Why do you think he keeps picking packs up for you."

Daud glowered. "I'm not so bad."

"You are." Corvo's tone gave away his fondness. "And you're wrong. I was scared of you, at first."

"I couldn't tell."

"You should’ve. You're not approachable."

"And you're not tactful," Daud bit out. "Your frankness will kill you, if your insolence doesn't."

Corvo smiled, and stretched again, squirming in just the right place to convince Daud to push down against him. Corvo's fingers raked down his back, chasing the man's tattoos along his spine.

"I think it means I'm yours," he muttered quietly, voicing his thoughts aloud. He was drowsy, too much so to care for the sentimentality of his words. "We're all yours. That's what it means."

Daud breathed his laughter against Corvo's neck, his own hands finding the markings around Corvo's waist. "If you say so." He pulled back, and angled Corvo's chin up to him. "Then does this," he shrugged at his own tattoos, "mean I'm yours, as well?"

Corvo considered it, eyes trailing the patterns etched around Daud's shoulders, arms, and it suddenly occurred to him just how similar their markings were. Not identical. There were clear, distinct differences. Daud's back was wholly covered, for one, where only Corvo's left side was adorned. But the shade, the style of their winding shapes, matched perfectly. Anyone looking closely enough would think their tattoos were knowingly coordinated.

"Yes," Corvo answered eventually, smiling at his findings. "I'd say it does."


End file.
